


Orpheus' Telos

by Saraku



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Divergent Timelines, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, It ends the way you think it ends, M/M, Mentioned Krile Mayer Baldesion (Final Fantasy XIV), Mentioned Scions of the Seventh Dawn (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, POV Second Person, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraku/pseuds/Saraku
Summary: The First is saved, and with the Scions no longer bound to their otherworldly prison, the Warrior of Light returns to the Source.Upon their return, an expedition that’s been delayed for several years begin anew: unravelling the secrets of the crystal tower at the edge of Mor Dhona.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	Orpheus' Telos

You always did wonder what was past those doors surrounded by crystal. You simply didn’t realize you’d get an answer.

“I admit,” you say dryly, “I wasn’t expecting this to be continued.”

Cid laughs. The crystals surrounding the two of you echo the noise, bouncing off further into the path. “I was beginning to give up hope, myself. Funny how these things work out.”

You nod in response as you step further into the valley and take in the sight. “Looks just as ruinous as any other ruins.”

Cid slaps you on the back, stepping to stand by your side. “Aye, but once we get past those Sentinels there – “ He points further past and your eyes spot statues lining a path. “– we’ll be clear for the first part of the entrance.” He gives you a look. “You remember what you said when I brought this up, those years ago?”

You remember, of course. In one of your few, lull days, Cid had offhandedly brought up a potential expedition regarding the tower in Mor Dhona and had welcomed your presence should you find yourself wanting, but it had been delayed indefinitely once Garlean forces and Ishgard-related heretics had threatened the peace. It wasn’t until they had to search the trenches that plans were being resumed, finalized when you and the Scions returned to state that the self-same tower was open in another world.

You affirm your response and he grins. “You plan on joining?”

“Gods, yes.” It’s been so long since you’ve had the chance to join something on your own accord, and not because a country or world was going to be destroyed if you chose not to fight. “All’s been quiet at the frontlines, so I’ve free reign to do whatever the hells I want.”

“Well, if anyone deservers the autonomy, it’d be damn well you.”

Nodding, you cross the area to take a closer look at the statues, but as your sight takes in the base of the tower, you turn your gaze away and look anywhere else.

You’re hoping Cid ignores that obvious movement, but he cares far too much to do that. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” You also hope your voice isn’t as clipped as you think it sounds.

But Cid doesn’t push or asks anymore questions, so you accept that success. “We’re working on the Sentinel part, so I can just send you a call when we’re ready.”

There’s plenty of other things for you to do, but none of them are important enough for you to put this off. “Is there any way I can assist?”

It takes a few minutes of nagging, negotiating, and incessant banter involving Nero and his pay raise that Rammbroes almost looks concerned, but you have the schematics you need to help out.

Before you leave, Cid calls your name.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

You paused in your stride. Without looking, you knew the tower pierced the skies, past the shimmer of blue hidden above the clouds. It’s been a fixture in Mor Dhona for the last five summers, so you and all know how far it goes, but you and your recuperated Scion family refuse to look at it. But now it had been weeks since your return from the Source, the Scions having resumed a measure of normality, but you had yet to follow their footsteps until today. Numbness had sunk in days ago, but there were times that you felt the prick of being overwhelmed by everything.

You need this. Your own version of catharsis – being able to do what you wished was simply one part of it. The peace would not last; the stalemate would turn into tides of war again. You must prepare. You cannot afford to mourn.

“I have no reason to lie, Cid.” It’s true, you don’t. You’ve been better, but you’ve also been worse.

Everyone copes in their own ways.

\---

_“Do you know the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice?”_

_\---_

(You remember arriving at the Rising Stones, numb and weary, as Tataru and the others look towards you in joy, noting that the others had awakened and for the first time in a dreadfully long time, things were going their way.

Then Krile comes out from their rooms, face grim and there, you receive proof that the Scions had awoken.

The battle is won. Your friends have returned. The First is saved. The Eighth Umbral Calamity of the element of Light would not come to pass.

You remember stepping into the room where they rested and all at once their gazes rest on you. Denial, disbelief, anger.

The battle is won, but for you, the war is lost.)

\---

The sass is a breath of fresh air; where people of the Source would normally worship the very grounds you walked, this one wielded sarcasm like a weapon and he was not afraid to parley. Still, there is genuine camaraderie in his actions and a part of you tentatively forgives him for his ‘game’.

Something about him nags you. Far past the initial annoyance and it won’t leave you alone. Something related to the First –

The Miqo’te tilts his head and after a moment, gives you a sly grin. “Is there a problem, adventurer?”

 _Gods, yes_ , you want to say. _Making me run around the place, wasting my time, then acting like that_ – it takes all your will not to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

Instead, you exhale heavily, watching his expression go from distinctly pleased to confused. You needed to stay on topic, else knowing your luck you’d have to spend more time with the man than you wanted.

“Have we met before?”

His expression is fully confused now. “Pardon?”

Gods give you patience. You repeat the question with a string of finality in your tone.

From the way confusion is written on his face like the dark appearing from light, you had your answer before he spoke. “I don’t believe we have.”

You’re satisfied to leave it there, but it seems he has more words to say. “But I know of you. The vaunted Warrior of Light, protector of Eorzea. Such a set of qualifications, how was I _not_ to know when your name was given?”

Your lips curl. The words sound mocking, but the familiarity of his tone and voice makes you wonder if it was suppose to be genuine, your cynical side tainting your thoughts.

There’s a thread left at the end of his words. You pick it up, and decide to unravel as your curiosity gets the better of you. “And was I suppose to know you?”

The way he smiles is almost taunting. “No. I am but a nameless scholar – my name matters naught except those that roam my home.”

\---

Krile pauses in her drinking and nearly slams the cup back onto the table. “That sounds like my brother.”

You pause as well, though you simply pull the cup away from your face. “Your brother?”

She nods, expression lightning up and it’s easy to tell she’s trying her best not to let her hopes soar. “Miqo’te, red hair, green and red eyes –“

Urianger jolts and mutters an excuse before escaping, but you pay him no mind as you think.

You don’t know how to feel about how easy it is to imagine the selfsame man you met yesterday and the one in Krile’s description. What was his name…? “Is his name, perchance,” you pause as your mind scrambles to fetch the name from where you tossed it out after his introduction, feeling pressure on your back as Krile looked at you in hope. “G’raha?”

You say the name with a bite of hesitance, but either Krile doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Yes! Raha! Oh, I’d love to see him again!”

There’s a level of joy in her expression that you haven’t felt in years. Part of you swells in bitterness knowing that you don’t have something waiting to give you the same feeling of love and joy, but you push it down and regard her instead.

In your years spent with her – and your fellow Scions would agree – she had never seemed to be so happy. You know what it’s like to lose the one you loved, and if given the chance to see them again…

Well. You had no intention of going back to the site today (or at _all_ , truthfully, if the annoying Miqo’te was still there) but it seems your plans have changed.

\---

It takes twenty minutes to arrive at the Find, and exactly twenty-six seconds for Krile to locate her prey.

You’ve just handed your mount off to the stable hand when you hear a loud shout and the sound of heavy things making impact with the floor. Several researchers look concerned, but you wave them off as you approach.

G’raha looks dumbfounded (and you note yourself a one-one on the scoreboard) before Krile almost pounces on him. He doesn’t move, letting the woman hug him like a stuffed animal.

 _He's in shock,_ you dimly note. It’s pleasant, not hearing his voice. You relish the moment before he starts ranting.

“You – where – _how_ – “

“Oh Raha, have your wits left you so that you no longer recognize a familiar face?” Krile teases, smile wide and you catch her eyes glisten before she hastily brushed them away with her sleeve.

“And have _yours_ left you that you forget it’s courtesy _not_ to commit physical assault?”

There’s a softness in his tone that takes the bite away from his words, and even then, Krile responds with a resounding laugh.

“You never change, you foolish Miqo! Who kept you in line when I wasn’t there to make sure you weren’t written up for insubordination?”

You hear snickers around the place reminding you that they were in public, but neither of the siblings seemed to care.

You hear Krile mention the disappearance of the Isle of Val, and then G’raha’s expression changes; quiet, hesitant, _vulnerable_ , and that is when you turn and walk away, content to let them have their privacy.

You use your time to investigate the current operation and one scholar passes you notes for the first part of the exploration, giving you an immeasurable advantage against whatever hellscape you’d end up in.

By the time they finish, there’s enough time that’s passed that Krile cannot bring herself to excuse. As she heads off to the stables, a voice calls to you.

G’raha stumbles to your side, and says, “Thank you.”

You barely have enough sense left in you to stop your jaw from dropping. It’s the first bit of absolute sincerity you’ve heard, no strings attached.

You shift, changing your posture to be more relaxed. “What for?”

It’s open bait for a sharp retort, but he ignores it. “For bringing her here. It’s… been a long time since I’ve last saw family.”

You’re not sure what the best way to respond is. “Well,” you begin, “I feel she may have found out sooner or later, and would have had me murdered if I kept it from her.”

G’raha hums. “Such evil in such a small thing.”

A snort escapes you and several people give you a concerned look. “I thought she was family.”

“Yes. She’s disowned me six times. Despite all my efforts, she’s also adopted me seven times.”

He shakes his head and looks towards you. “But truly, thank you. I’m sure you knew this beforehand, but if there’s anything you need and I can provide, please let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

Were you supposed to know this beforehand? Regardless, the offer is enticing, and with how common Allagans were in the destruction of Eorzea.

But there’s a piece of information you crave, directly related to the tower you had yet to explore in this world.

“You don’t happen to have anything related to the tower, would you?”

There’s a pause, and it looks like he’s debating the best way to proceed. “Nothing we don’t already know. Which is scarcely little.”

Unsurprising. You sigh. “Ah. Well, if I need information again, I just need to bait you.

He blinks. “Well, if you’ve a want for information, especially regarding the Allagans, I’d be happy to tell you. All you need is ask, my friend.”

“No games or thievery? Payment or two?”

A pause before he shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “No. ‘tis plain honesty – I’ve a love for history; why should I bar someone’s way to learn it, regardless of their intention?”

You relax, permitting a small smile. “Heh. Perhaps I misjudged you.”

\---

With all the years spent with the academics of the Scions under your belt, it was easy to gauge that G’raha Tia, for all his eccentricities, was a scholar that earned his marks. The quick assessment of the enemies you encountered, and analysis of the inner structure proved his merit, even if it was accentuated by witty remarks when someone asked how he knew.

The past few days showed his dedication as well, at least until you overheard a mini-argument in Sharlayan with Rammbroes and G’raha that you summarized as the latter being forced to do something else as if his very life actually had something for it past opening those doors.

(The pragmatist in you wonders if you can return to the First and see if _he_ left behind notes on this matter. But everything aches too much – heart, soul, mind.)

Since then, you haven’t seen hide or hair of G’raha, and it’s gotten to the point the other researchers worry that wondered off to be eaten. Even though you don’t have the most positive opinion of him, you doubt that considering the bow he wielded was not simply for show.

When you point this out, they squawk and state that such information was irrelevant, if only because the man had no need to endanger himself in the first place before promptly asking you to keep an eye out for him.

So, it’s you that happens to find him.

He’s the first person you see in the Seventh Heaven, tucked away into the corner, positioned so the sun wouldn’t directly shine onto the papers he had scattered on the table. You wave to the bartender and the minstrel as you approach him.

There’s an aroma drifting from his cup you’re certain is tea and he looks up just in time to see you approach.

You cut the quiet first. “Are you hiding all the way in Revenant’s Toll because you’re sulking?”

“I do not sulk,” he replies and the expression he makes almost makes you laugh. He’s _pouting_. “I had hoped to spot Krile, but it seems she is not here.”

“No, she’s not,” you say. “She has business elsewhere. Though if you two miss each other that much, I’m sure a quick message on a linkpearl can bring her back?” Krile was dedicated to her work, but you doubted it would triumph against family.

Instead, G’raha shakes his head. “No. Much as I wish to spend more time with her, she has her duties and I have my own.” He lowers his voice. “Albeit displaced.”

He picks up his tea as you lean and make out a few upside words on his papers. “And here I thought you’d smuggle out those tomes of yours.”

He scowls into his tea. “I _tried_.” He pushes papers off his books and you recognize one of the covers as one of the encyclopedia’s he had by NOAH’s workstation. He heaves it open and you attempt to stifle a laugh when you realize it’s a _picture book_ instead, though by the way G’raha grumbles, you fail. Utterly.

“I see the tables have turned against you,” you manage to get out.

“I will have my revenge,” he mutters. “They understand how important this is, and they pull a prank instead.”

Calming down, you try to wonder why the ever-serious group of scholars and researches of Saint Coinach’s Find would lower themselves to such an act, when you remember that no matter how bizarrely they looked at G’raha, they did care enough to make sure he didn’t run himself ragged.

The fool’s inability to take care of himself – gods, it’s like you never returned in the first place.

“Maybe,” you say, sitting down and tugging the book in your direction, “you just need a change in perspective.”

\---

Its become habit.

On days G’raha was forced to take a break, you accompany him to Revenant’s Toll for a variety of menial events.

Today, he brings books with him. Leaning under the shade of a tree, you two are far enough that the quiet is the company. You recognize a few of the titles, mentioned by Alisaie or Alphinaud most commonly, and you swear you’ve seen some of these binds in Y’shtola’s bookshelf.

“I never took you as one who fancied tales,” you say. When you say them, words feel like lead on your tongue and you wished dearly to take them back.

G’raha smiles, a ghost of familiarity present on his features. “I grew up with stories, with a fondness to those that focused on the ones left behind,” he replies, “of course, not all stories came with a happy ending. To the hero or the victim.”

“Why is that?” Tucking that information away, you don’t know what else to say to keep the conversation going, silence feeling too stiff.

He shrugs. “Not sure, admittedly. Perhaps I like my sense of reality a tad too much to be carried away by the whims of fantasy.”

“Is that why you study history?”

You know the answer to that question, having slipped on his past once before, but he gives you a scoff instead, almost whiny and bureaucratical.

“I like to learn history to prevent is from tracing its footsteps again. The last thing we need is another megalomaniac taking over, and we already have Garlemald.”

“Ah. You’re who Nero was speaking about.”

\---

The day after you meet Doga and Unei, there’s a somber look in G’raha’s eyes.

It looks disconcerting on G’raha of all people, so you sought to distract him. Bringing up his fondness of tales, you two engage is an animated discussion and by the end of it he looks closer to the man that eagerly announced NOAH's formation.

When the topic stumbles into favourites, he pauses and thinks, one hand pressing to his chin, an echo to a faraway memory.

His eyes light up and asks a question.

“Do you know the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

There’s a flinch you know is visible at his words and he pauses, eyes wide but otherwise calm, waiting for your reaction. His voice was too familiar, tone too kind – you exhale sharply, forcing yourself to relax after too-long seconds and hope he doesn’t ask.

“I’ve heard of it,” you reply, willing the shakiness from your voice. “I know Orpheus travels to rescue Eurydice, but fails in his quest. I’m afraid I lack specific details of the tale.”

He hesitates. “Would you like to know?”

You think back to a conversation you barely recall, hazy through the tides of events that had happened since then. You wanted answers then, that much you could recall.

But your throat closes up and you squeeze your eyes shut as you replay the distant words in your head, spoken by a distant figure of damning familiarity and all you’re reminded is the feeling of bile scalding your voice and light burning the very edges of your vision away.

“Perhaps one day.”

\---

(It’s a pleasant surprise to encounter him in the Cabinet of Curiosity. While the Crystarium took in the night, as they’ve been doing for the past few days, the Crystal Exarch was roaming the shelves. Though its no business of yours, you’re terribly curious about the books in his arms.

“The children oft request a tale or two when they see me,” he offers as explanation, “I find no ill in indulging them, not when their hope is the foundation for our future.”

You recall the Doman children when they arrived in Revenant’s Toll and smile dimly at the memory. “Understandable. They remind us of why we keep fighting, among other things.”

He sets the books down on a nearby table. “Indeed. So when I feel that a break would be beneficial, I seek out new tales to tell. Admittedly, I’ve always been fond of them myself.”

You read the script on the cover of the book, titled simply _Eurydice_. “I never took you as one who fancied tales, I must admit.”

“Ah, but a scholar must have something to influence their loves for tomes.” He brushes the cover on the book. “This is one I’m intimately familiar with, though I read it again and again as a reminder that I cannot wane in my goal.” He pauses and glances at you, but when your response is a simple blink back, he sighs.

‘’tis a tale of Orpheus, who, upon his beloved Eurydice’s death, went to the Underworld to retrieve her. Unfortunately, the story does not end in joy, for Orpheus fails in his task, and Eurydice is lost to him forevermore.”)

\---

Your body seizes and shakes as you jolt awake, breathing heavily and you push the covers off. Air, you needed fresh air and it was damnably _hot_. You blink rapidly, shaking as you heaved in air.

Someone calls your name.

One hand reaches for your weapon and the blurred, dark figure stills. As you become aware of the small, flickering light in the dark and your eyes adjust, you relax, exhale sharply once more, and release the aching grip on your weapon.

His hand hovers nearby as if he was debating to touch you but chose to give you much needed space instead. A silent question hung heavy in the air.

You don’t want to talk about it. “Gods,” you mutter, “do you sleep at all?” Despite your nonexistent sleep schedule, your mind and body aches and protest the awakening.

There’s a moment of silence before G'raha chooses to reply. “I am a person, after all,” he replies, lacking the sharp wit. “But that is not the reason I woke you.”

You hope he isn’t so adjusted to the dark that he can’t see your teeth grind.

“Well!” Gods damn it. “I have some papers and research I’m documenting, summarizing, writing – “

“You’re ranting again.” It’s easy to slip into the normal banter you’ve established with him and you have no words to describe how thankful you are for that.

“Ah – well, I believe ‘twould be wise to have the input of a seasoned adventurer when making notes regarding various components, such as the monsters and other Allagan constructs.”

It’s one of the most blatant lies you’ve ever heard that you almost feel offended. You had a chance to read one of his reports, before you and a group of other adventurers raided the Labyrinth of the Ancients. It had helped tremendously with the exploration, and it was enough proof for you that he could write them on his own.

But he knew that. The way he was working when you entered the tent earlier, the notes written in shorthand scattered around his desk.

So you say, “Where shall we start?”

\---

(“Maybe one day,” you say, grimly sardonic, “we shall awaken and realize the word has crumbled around us, desolate dark, trying to find the light.”

He freezes in motion, mouth hanging open and the free hand freezes in place, processing your words. You wonder if you pushed the boundaries of your tentative kinship too far and move to apologize when a small, almost child-like laugh escapes him.

You still want to apologize, but he waves a hand humorously in your direction as he gains his breath.

You’re in shock.

Your words clearly struck a chord, and they were anything but humorous and yet he smiled as if it was an old joke, based off an old wound.

“And then one day,” he continues, picking off where you left off, a glint in his eyes that you recognize to be hope, “people decide they have had enough, so they find the light for the future, so you may be greeted by a beautiful morning.”)

\---

When the group of adventurers you led made reasonable progress in the structure, a pause was done to grant you all a break and for the researchers to gather their information in a timely fashion. In those times, you found yourself in the presence of G’raha.

You wondered if the Twelve were playing tricks with you, considering your first impression of the man.

You supposed it stopped mattering when you decided to accompany him to Revenant’s Toll, all those moons ago.

The way you find G’raha now, surrounded by books, the chair beside him used for books and notes as he sat on a blanket on the ground, focused so much that it was only when he blinked that one remembered he was a living, breathing human.

You stop in your approach, watching the way his eyes roam the tome, that you decide to brave your fears.

It takes a distraction comprised of three other adventurers, two scholars, and five slices of walnut bread to get G’raha away from his books and with you to stroll the shores of the lake.

He’s humming lightly, a song you wonder if you should recognize because you no longer knew what you kept hidden away for the sake of your heart.

“Would you lie to someone to prevent them from feeling guilt as you gave your life to save theirs?”

His humming is broken when you speak, ending the quiet atmosphere and sending it into an uncomfortable topic.

In his eyes, there’s a look of curiosity as he bends down to pick up a few rocks, but it’s gone by the time he looks back at you.

“I believe that depends on the person, no?” He says in response, hefting a rock into the air and skipping it into the waters. The waves splash against it, glinting in the afternoon sun.

You brought up the question and every bone in your being wants to end it.

His next words bring you back to reality, another rock splashing against the water. “Though if I may be bold – “ And here, you expect him to spin it around, change the topic as to make you relax, “I believe people would be willing to save _you_.”

Your heart keens. Once again, the Miqo’te with red hair and red eyes performs the unexpected.

“You’re right,” you say softly. “Many have tried.” Many have succeeded.

(The one you held in your arms, blood on your clothes and armor, and the one where all you had left was pure white ichor where they last stood.)

“If _I_ may be so bold…” He looks serene against the incoming wind. “I would say you would.” A smile pulls itself onto your face and you hope it doesn’t look as bitter as it feels. “But admittedly, I don’t know you that well for such an assumption.”

He makes an undignified sound, one more rock in his hand. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

“I'd like to change that.”

G’raha sharply turns his gaze towards you, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open, his open hand freezing in mid-air. 

And instead of laughing, he makes a noise almost like a shriek and starts rambling. Even with the Echo, Sharlayan words blur together and while you indulge yourself a smile, the words you pick up are hopeful.

You wonder how you could have been so blind, then.

The fierce ache caused by the Lightwarden’s aether is still present, but you think, for the first time since you left after waking in the Crystarium, bathed in the night sky –

The wound breathes.

\---

G’raha presses his lips to yours and you’re not breathing by the time he pulls away, short and chaste. He flushes under your unblinking stare.

“Stay safe,” he says, eyes burning into you before turning around and running back in a way you’re willing to believe as _embarrassed_.

You press your fingers to your lips, mouthing silently as you replayed the way he pressed himself further into your personal space, his breath hot on your skin. Blood surges beneath your skin, demanding to be sated.

You cannot die. You have known this for summers, for you are the Warrior of Light, but gods above, you _are not allowed to die._

The other squad leaders look at you strangely when you walk up to take charge. You don’t mind.

You know there’s a wide grin on your face. You can feel it. Part of you wants to be mortified, knowing all these people may have seen that moment, but the thought of coming back to the top and seeing G’raha fulfill his dreams and unearth these mysteries only has you excited.

 _No,_ you think, _I don’t mind at all._

\---

Come the morning, if the Ironworks can procure yet another miracle and open a portal into the Thirteenth, you and G’raha will traverse the broken remnants of the world beyond.

The Warrior of Light was fearless, a one-man army against the threats of the world. What was a ruined world, doomed by a hero that never came to pass?

But in the dark, pressed to G’raha’s side as you finished preparations and the night taking a cold turn, you were anything but the Warrior of Light.

G’raha doesn’t say anything as you murmur, simply humming while a hand trailed down your back to soothe you.

There was always so much on the line, the unending ultimatum to your tale and soul, but knowing he would be joining you – because he _will_ , your cooperation be damned – is another fear in of itself, taking root in the nightmares you refuse to untangle.

You wonder how he can bring himself to do such an act. Join you in a life-or-death situation. To be willing to die a for a cause he would never see come to pass with his own eyes.

In the drifting sea of G’raha’s voice, you find the answer. Layered beneath another mystery, but one where the answer lay bare for the foolish and brave.

“… Tell me the story.”

G’raha stops and stares. The light in the tent colours his face, flickering and blinding. “Pardon?” He says softly.

You take him in your arms, pressing your head to his shoulder and exhale. “The tale. Orpheus and Eurydice.”

He knew.

He knew what you were asking, even before he asked. “I… believe it is not the most pleasant of tales to hear before such a mission.”

You shake your head and bury your face in his hair, inhaling deeply. You have no reason to doubt him, but a long-lost conversation echoes in your mind, voice clear as if spoken directly in your ear, the longing and agony laced within.

“Someone I cared for once said he re-visit the tale to remind himself,” you murmur, pulling away slightly and running a hand through his hair. The way he looks of you reminds you of the cliff on Kholusia, light pressing onto both of your figures, now cloaked in the confines of his tent. “To remind him not to wane in his goal.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping as he dips his head down, hiding his eyes.

“Orpheus and Eurydice were in love,” he murmurs. One hand moves from your back to your hand, brushing gently. “Following a series of events, Eurydice dies and her being whisked away into the Underworld, where the dead dwell until the end of time.”

You shut your eyes, taking in his voice. “And Orpheus goes to get her back.”

“Indeed. The god of the Underworld gave him one condition for her return: prove his faith. The god would allow Orpheus to guide Eurydice out of the Underworld, but was not allowed to look back as it showed his lack of faith. If he did, Eurydice would be returned to the Underworld, never to be revived again.”

Your breath catches, one hand tightening into his shirt as he tethers you to reality. “He looked back,” you whisper.

He shifts and you open your eyes to see him press his forehead to yours, a comforting weight against the harmless fairy tale. “Yes,” he replies, quiet. “And Eurydice was gone.”

You’re not sure what expression _you_ have right now, but you’re sure it’s related to why his brows crease and he blinks, looking uncertain. You don’t want to see that on his face.

“Perhaps, your friend – he was reminding himself not to look back, because he’d – “

You press your lips to his almost aggressively, and his voice dies out into a low whine and when you pull away, he slumps into you, breathing heavy and ragged.

Come the morning, if the Ironworks can procure another miracle, you vow to keep him safe. You will not wane like Orpheus.

Nothing will take him from you again.

\---

The battle goes disastrously.

You realize this when he’s covering your retreat and you end up in a pavilion you don’t recognize, the sound of Voidsent and the sharp tug of G’raha’s bowstring no longer in your hearing.

There’s light to guide your way and you follow it, remembering the signal you and he chose should one get lost in the dark. It’s intoxicating, the only hope of salvation being dangled and you run as it begins to dim, making a turn into nowhere.

You cross a threshold, the smell of Voidsent blood assaulting your senses and burning, _blinding_ light and you push your eyes to focus, find your way home –

The Lightwarden stares down at you.

It was humanoid, like a lesser Sin Eater, but power echoed through the light it shed. One arm did not have a hand, a staff taking its place as the other arm reflected light in the dark-swallowed world. Threads of braided hair make up its heavenly wings.

Its eyes are on you.

Its eyes have only ever been on you.

The cracked arm reaches up to you and caresses your cheek, your body shaking and its been so long since you felt this _warm_ , burning and familiar.

And all of it _hurts_.

There’s nothing to focus on but the light searing into your skin even though Agape had long ceased touching you, his hand withdrawn and watching, the wings suspended in time but it’s all _light_

Your stomach is in knots as he flies higher, further from your reach and you stumble, falling to your knees weapon discarded and reach reach _reach_ –

A voice shouts your name and your mind pieces itself back together enough to see Agape disappear from the corner of your vision, flying away.

Something pulls you up, away from the ledge of the stage and sits you down properly and by the time your vision is clear, his hands are pressed on your shoulders, ichor splattered on his hair and clothes.

G’raha’s breath is ragged as he looks over you in search of wounds that don’t exist, his eyes moving fast enough that you can’t focus on them.

You snag his arm and his eyes snap to you, focused and stable.

For a moment, the world around you didn’t exist. A fragment of your mind, off-balance and in the void of your memories. Two strangers in a strange land, his first and your second.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You know him well enough that he is not referring to the wounds he believes exists but cannot see.

You swallow, bile heavy in your throat and light covering your vision.

“Are you here?” You ask instead.

His answer is to grip your arm, tight and supportive.

 _No,_ you think. _So stay with me._

\---

The scream never gets past your throat as a shield pulls itself over him.

The Cloud of Darkness seethes.

\---

You’ve seen those eyes before.

\---

The adrenaline running through you is the only reason you keep going.

G’raha had not left the tower, that was one of the few, precious things your mind remembers ever since the Allagan Eyes claimed G’raha.

Cid and Rammbroes’ words pierce past the veil of fog in your mind because you hear his name.

“– making everyone _leave_ – “

One last game. One last hunt for the thief’s prize.

\---

It is all clear now since you see him again. It’s easier to focus with the physical reminder that he’s there, still there, and not alone against the world that he didn’t belong.

You cling onto every word, watching as he stepped further into the tower, farther from the doors that ensconce him.

( _“Throw wide the gates._ ”

It mocks you.)

There’s so much you want to say, but the way he looks at you like you placed the stars above yourself takes your breath away.

You can’t breathe as he turns around.

You can’t _breathe_.

He hums again, the lyric-less song echoing in your heart – his own, _foolish goodbye_ –

Tired, he says. He wishes to rest. Perhaps to wake and be greeted by a beautiful morning.

You want him to turn around, a crisis of faith and reconsider his choices and maybe, _maybe_ you weren’t there to say goodbye –

He turns, just so you can’t see his eyes, one last _desperate_ contact, just enough for his lips to come into view and as the doors slide shut, you see –

 _Good night_.

Where he once stood in full form ~~swathed in robes and doused in light~~ had been obscured by towering doors, sigils glowing crystal blue before dying out.

\---

_“He looked back.”_

_“Yes. And Eurydice was gone.”_

\---

There’s a note on the page when you wake up.

Fingers brushing the text, you move and push the cover close, your hand directly over the title. That chapter of the tale was done. There was no lamenting it now.

The note sticks at the top, your name written in Nero’s script. From what words peek out, you understand the note’s intent.

An analysis, and an apology.

You push the book back. _Eurydice_ ’s calligraphy burned your palm. She could have survived. Could have had another chance in life.

But Orpheus waned. That was what the Exarch reminded himself whenever he pulled out that book in the Cabinet, when he looked your way and hoped for recognition.

And building on those fallen foundations, he succeeded where Orpheus failed.

Raha knew better than to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> _telos; “an ultimate object or aim”_
> 
> In the middle of writing this, CT raids became mandatory to do 5.3 and then the PLL for some 5.3 stuff came out and I went into a frenzy finishing this
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'll see you all in 5.3


End file.
